


Far to Fall

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Hogwarts AU, M/M, and a whole lot of quidditch, and for Jack's general mental opinion of himself, featuring peaches the wonder cat, not so slow pimms, not that any of us would be surprised, slowburn zimbits, warning for parse having a shitty home life, which is unpleasant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack thought being the son of Quidditch legend "Bad Bob" Zimmermann was going to be the worst it got. </p><p>And then it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is from a prompt from [Whiskeytangofrogman](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com), who has been so kind as to let me babble at her about all this since she suggested it. 
> 
> I've also got pictures of all their pets available [here](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com/post/150132590008/because-no-im-not-writing-a-hogwarts-au-and-no). 
> 
> The amazing title was created by [ftchocoholic](http://ftchocoholic.tumblr.com). Thank you again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and many of them) will deal with Jack's self-esteem issues that have centered a lot on body image and his own personal failings. Also Parse's childhood, which is no good in this fic. This is a warning. 
> 
> Also, I almost wrote "my apologies to the city of Hull" but I'm not going to apologise to Hull, because I lived there and it deserves all.

Platform 9 ¾ is much larger than Jack expects it to be. It’s bustling and crowded, families and taking up space in every direction. There are so many people, sort of like he’s at a Quidditch game. Jack doesn’t know how he feels about that, but he thinks it’s not a positive feeling.

“You’re gonna be fine, Jack,” Alicia says, ruffling his hair and smoothing the shoulders of his Magpies jersey.

“I am?” he asks.

“Sure,” Alicia says. “You’ve got the same sort of drive like your dad.”

Jack doesn’t mention that if his dad were really proud of him, he’d be there at the platform to send him off to Hogwarts and he’s not. He knows his dad has practice, trying to get Scotland’s national team up to scratch before the World Cup, since Scotland’s been pretty bad at that lately, but still.

“Just as ambitious,” Alicia says, handing Jack the cage with his owl. It’s an odd creature, with its heart-shaped barn owl face, grey, its shoulders all speckled. The shopkeeper had said no one wanted it, which just about broke Jack’s heart. Apparently, it was from Australia so it didn’t fit in very well with the other owls. Jack hopes it’ll be fine in Scotland, but worst comes to worst, he figures he can smuggle it into the Slytherin dormitories and keep it there. His dad always said the Slytherin dorms were warm at the very least.

“Alright, you’ve got to get on the train before you miss it,” Alicia says, ushering Jack onto the train. She hugs him goodbye, and the steam whistle blows, and Jack is left alone to try and find a compartment for himself and his owl.

All of the other compartments are full of people right up until he gets to the very end of the train. There’s only one boy sitting in that compartment, and his blond hair is messy, the front sticking up a little absurdly. He’s wearing jeans with holes in them and a sort of grungy black and orange jersey for a team with a tiger on it that Jack doesn’t recognise. The boy looks up in surprise when Jack opens the door of the compartment.

“Can I maybe – can I sit here?” Jack asks.

“Sure,” the boy says. His trainers are a little beat up as well, but there aren’t holes in them. They’re just dirty and old.

Jack drags his trunk in and sits down across from the boy. He sets his owl’s cage on top of his trunk and it hoots softly.

“What’s your owl’s name?” the boy asks.

“Jet,” Jack says. “Like the--”

“The stone, yeah,” the boy agrees. “’Cause of its eyes?”

Jack nods.

“I’m Kent,” the boy says. “Parson.”

“I’m Jack,” Jack replies. He leaves off the last name, because although he’s pretty sure Kent is Muggleborn, just in case he’s not, he doesn’t want to deal with that yet. “Are you from Kent?”

Kent snorts. “No,” he says. “Yorkshire. And you’re…Scottish?”

Jack nods. It’s true enough, since his dad’s Scottish and he’s grown up in Scotland, even if his mum is English.

“Cool,” Kent says. “Where in Scotland?”

“Montrose,” Jack says, feeling himself go red.

Kent inspects him for a second, scanning his face with his brows furrowed. Jack realises he can’t actually tell what colour Kent’s eyes are.

“What’s your surname?” Kent asks.

“Zimmermann,” Jack mumbles, because at some point, Kent’s going to find out anyway. Like at the Sorting.

Kent’s eyes go huge. “Seriously? Like Bad Bob Zimmermann type Zimmermann?”

Jack nods and stares at his shoes. There goes his hope that Kent might not know who his dad was.

“Wicked,” Kent says.

“What’s your shirt from?” Jack asks, trying to interrupt any questions about his father.

Kent looks down at his shirt and plucks at the fabric awkwardly. “Oh,” he says. “The football club back home.”

“In Yorkshire?” Jack asks. “Where?”

Kent grimaces and looks away. “Hull,” he says. He slurs it a little, so that it sounds a bit like he’s actually saying “hell.”

“Oh,” Jack says. “I’ve never been.”

“Don’t,” Kent recommends.

Jack is prepared to let it drop, and then another boy barges into their compartment, drops to the bench next to Jack, and kicks his feet up in exasperation.

“Because I mean seriously!” he exclaims as though they’re in the middle of a conversation, brushing his long brown hair out of his eyes. “Who actually _wants_ to be in Slytherin in this day and age? Most Slytherins look like the bloody Malfoys not Bob Zimmermann, I mean for pity’s sake.”

“Erm, who are you?” Jack asks.

“My name’s shitty, there’s no point,” the boy says. “It’s actually the letter B. I mean, honestly? What’s the point of that? Were they going to have twenty-five other children named A through Z?”

Jack exchanges a look with Kent. Kent looks sort of amused by B.

“Anyway, first years? Both of you?” B asks. Jack and Kent nod. “Excellent. Muggleborn?”

“Half and half,” Kent says. “Mum’s a witch. Dad’s in the army.”

“Pureblood,” Jack mumbles because that is not something they can be proud of in this day and age. Not that it’s something he wants to be proud of anyway.

“Ah, tits, me too,” B says, clapping Jack on the shoulder in sympathy. “What houses are you lot hoping to be in?”

“Hoping? Well everyone’s hoping to be in Gryffindor aren’t they?” Kent asks. Jack shrugs.

“I’m going to be in Slytherin,” Jack says. He knows how it sounds. Pureblood, going to Slytherin, nothing good can possibly come of it really.

B looks at him askance, green eyes flashing in the light streaming through the window of their compartment.

“His dad’s Bob Zimmermann,” Kent says. He crosses his arms and looks B in the eye, obviously a challenge. “Y’know, the centre chaser for the Magpies? The one you said was the only decent Slytherin?”

B opens his mouth in shock, and then turns to Jack. “Bloody hell, really?”

“Really,” Jack agrees. “What house are you going to be in then?”

B sighs dramatically. “Slytherin probably. My dad was in Slytherin, and all of the other Knights before him. It’s sort of the worst isn’t it?”

Jack nods even if he doesn’t really agree. His dad survived Slytherin very nicely, as did his grandparents, without ever getting involved in everything that happens in Slytherin house.

“What about you?” B asks Kent. Jack realises that they haven’t introduced themselves and so B doesn’t actually know his or Kent’s names.

“My mum was in Hufflepuff,” Kent says. “Doubt I will be though.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” B says. “I’m sure you can be in Hufflepuff if you want to. My mum said you can ask the Hat to do you a solid if you need to. Mostly I think it was because she was trying to make sure I’m not in Slytherin.”

Kent snorts. “Because obviously that would be the worst, right? Where are you from, B?”

“Seriously, just call me Shitty,” B says, which surprises Jack. Also, he’s pretty sure they’ll get detention if they call B “Shitty” where the professors can hear them. “And Cambridge. What about you two?”

“Scotland,” Jack says.

“Oh, right, because Bad Bob, yeah,” Shitty says. “And you?”

“Hull,” Kent says, giving Shitty a wry smile.

Shitty’s grin fades a bit. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Kent says. “Don’t you have a trunk?”

“Oh! Bollocks,” Shitty says, and then he’s gone, disappeared into the corridor and vanished.

Jack and Kent exchange looks.

“Interesting sort,” Kent says finally.

Jack hums his agreement and then there’s a knock on the compartment door. The trolley lady is smiling kindly at them, her cheeks rosy.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?” she asks.

Jack shouldn’t be eating sweets, he knows this. He’s going to say no offhand, but Kent is looking at the cart with hungry eyes while at the same time shaking his head. Jack glances at the holes in Kent’s jeans and the fact his clothes are all a little too big for him.

“Could we get a few cauldron cakes and some chocolate frogs?” Jack asks. “And maybe two pasties? And a box of pepper imps?”

Kent and the trolley lady both stare at him, but she hands everything over and Jack passes her the necessary money. He tosses one of the pasties to Kent and leaves the rest of the food on the table in the corner.

“Thanks,” Kent says.

“Yeah of course,” Jack says, biting into his pasty. At least that won’t add to the monumental amount of squishiness on his body. It’s just pumpkin.

Shitty returns not too long after, dragging a trunk and an owl cage. The owl is huge, almost twice the size of Jet. Shitty introduces it as Roach and sets its cage next to Jet’s. Roach stares at Jack’s small black owl with huge yellow eyes that make Jack nervous.

Shitty spends the rest of the train-ride to Hogwarts discussing the merits of various houses. He stops dismissing Slytherin offhand and starts pointing out that there’s ambition, and a thirst to prove oneself in Slytherin that isn’t often found in other houses. Then he starts explaining the dichotomy of houses as described by his mother, which is that Slytherin and Ravenclaw are the houses where people value words and intangible things. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are where people value physical, tangible things. Conversely, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are the planners of the houses, while Gryffindor and Slytherin are the doers.

“So Ravenclaw is all talk and bluster,” Kent translates. “Sounds a bit like you, Shitty.”

Shitty goes red around the ears, but doesn’t contradict him.

It’s dark by the time the train reaches Hogsmeade Station. In their matching Hogwarts robes, Jack thinks it’s hard to tell that he’s about twice the size of Kent, even though he is. Standing next to him now as they walk down to the lake, he realises he’s also a head taller. Kent seems like such a normal size, and Jack is so very not.

They’re loaded into boats the three of them and ferried across the smooth black lake. Jack wants to know if it’s a loch, properly, but he’s not about to reach over the side of the boat and test the water for salt. Instead he sits back with Kent and Shitty and watches as the castle comes into view. The spires reach up into the sky with stunning grace and beauty, the warm yellow lights spilling from the windows making the whole thing look soft and inviting.

They’re led up the hill to the castle, and into the entrance hall, where they wait.

It’s not that long before they’re ushered into the Great Hall, past the green and blue tables and up the centre aisle towards the staff table. There’s a ragged old hat sitting on a stool, and Jack is so nervous by that point he actually blacks out while the Hat apparently sings a song. His panic lasts until the professor holding a scroll calls for Camilla Collins to come get sorted. The round faced blonde girl bounces up to the stool and is sorted off to Gryffindor.

Jack watches the Sorting with enough nerves that his skin feels like it’s going to buzz right off his body. Belatedly, he realises he’s going to be the last person sorted.

“Well here goes,” Shitty says when the professor calls for B. Knight. He tosses Jack and Kent a half-formed salute that makes Kent wince and sits down on the stool. There’s a pause and then the Hat is sending him off to Ravenclaw.

“Called it,” Kent mumbles.

It’s not very many people before Kent is called. He winks at Jack and head up to the stool. The Hat deliberates for a bit, then calls out Slytherin. Jack breathes a sigh of relief. Should everything go right and he end up in Slytherin where he’s supposed to, at least he’ll have Kent.

The time that stretches between Kent’s sorting and his own seems interminable. It will never, ever end, and then, finally, Jack Zimmermann is called. People whisper about him as he walks up to the stool, things like “he can’t be Bad Bob’s son, right?” “No, look at the kid, he’s giant. He’d fall right off a broomstick.” Jack tries to tune them out, and sits down. The Hat touches his head.

 _Hmm_ , a voice says inside his head. _Ambition, sure. A drive to be better, yes. But a kind heart. Such a soft heart. Better be –_

When the Hat shouts “Hufflepuff!” it’s louder than anything Jack’s ever heard. It echoes around the Great Hall, shaking him to his core. His knees feel numb while he stumbles off the stool and falls to the bench at the Hufflepuff table, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to stop shaking. He immediately starts imagining how disappointed his dad’s going to be when he finds out. He wasn’t in Slytherin like he was supposed to be, and he’s not even in one of the really respectable houses like Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. No. He’s in _Hufflepuff_. He’s – there’s been a mistake. There has to be a mistake.

“You’ll be fine,” a fifth year says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Trust me. It’s better for the narrative.”

“What narrative?” Jack asks.

“Of your life,” the fifth year says. His prefect badge glints in the candlelight. “Do you play Quidditch?”

“Yeah, but first years aren’t allowed on the House teams,” Jack replies. “Do you play?”

“Keeper,” the fifth year says. “Johnson. You’re going to be fine, smallest badger.”

Jack is definitely not the smallest Hufflepuff, but he doesn’t want to fight the guy about it.

“And just because you’re a first year, it doesn’t mean you can’t practice,” Johnson says.

The welcome feast goes quicker than Jack is expecting. But then, he doesn’t really know what he was expecting. The prefects usher them out of the hall after they’re done with their food and after the headmistress has given her speech, and lead them down a warm hallway. Jack imagines they must be near the kitchens, and then they stop at a wall of stacked old barrels, giant casks like beer vats from the middle ages. Johnson knocks on one and it swings open to let the first hear Hufflepuffs in.

The common room is sunny and warm, despite the fact it’s late at night. Jack looks around in wonder and lets himself be steered into the centre with the rest of his group, on top of a pile of rugs. The most obvious one is yellow and shaped like a sunflower.

“Alright, welcome to Hufflepuff House,” Johnson says. “This is the common room. Through those doors is the garden. The boys’ dormitories are to your left, girls’ on your right. We have hot chocolate on Fridays after dinner, and proper tea on Saturdays. Any questions, you can ask me or any of the other prefects.”

Jack follows the rest of the boys to their new dormitory, which is through another round door.

“It’s like we’re in the Shire,” one of the boys says, flopping onto one of the yellow draped beds. Jack finds the one with his trunk at the foot and sits. A Hufflepuff scarf and tie are lying on his chair, and Jet is perched on the back, her eyes closed.

“Mate, isn’t your owl supposed to be in the Owlry?” one of the other boys asks. Jack strokes the starry feathers on Jet’s head and she hoots softly.

“She’s from Australia,” Jack says. “She’ll get cold.”

The other boys exchange looks but don’t say anything else about Jack’s owl. He reflects that at least she’s one of the Hufflepuff colours.

* * *

 

It turns out that because of the Second Wizarding War, class sizes are significantly smaller these days than they have been in all of Hogwarts’ history. To Jack, this is a relief because it means he has all his classes with Kent and Shitty. Kent likes to talk about the Slytherin common room, though, since apparently it’s very cool with the fact one of the walls in the hallway that leads to the dorms is entirely a glass window that looks into the depths of the lake. Jack thinks that would make him worry about drowning every time he looked at it, but he keeps that to himself. Similarly, Shitty talks at length about the Ravenclaw common room and how he can see all of Scotland from his dormitory window, and how he’s pretty sure he can actually see Hadrian’s Wall and everything.

“Hadrian’s Wall isn’t in Scotland,” Jack points out. “It’s in Northumberland and Cumbria.”

Kent and Shitty both stare at him until Jack flushes.

“The Antonine Wall is in Scotland though,” he says. He tries to sink lower in his seat but he’s too big to ever really be inconspicuous. He hates it.

They make it through a month of classes before Jack borrows the Quidditch practice schedule from Johnson and figures out a time that the pitch will be empty and he can go fly. To his surprise, both Kent and Shitty want to go with him.

“What position do you play?” Kent asks.

“Chaser like his dad I’ll bet,” Shitty replies. “I play chaser too.”

“Yeah so do I,” Kent says. “Are you any good?”

Shitty shrugs and they fetch brooms from the school broom rack. Jack wishes he could’ve brought his with him, but he doesn’t care that much once he’s in the air. It’s the only place he feels truly comfortable, although the Hufflepuff dormitories are growing on him. But when he’s flying – when he’s flying he can forget that he’s too tall, and too fat, and too awkward, and too unlike his father to ever amount to anything.

They throw the quaffle around for a bit, although Shitty fumbles it every so often and Jack thinks it’s going to be up to him to dive and catch it. But every single time, Kent pulls off the same sort of dive, catches the ball with the same level of skill, and tosses it casually to Jack. Kent is just as good a flier as Jack, and something about that makes Jack nervous. He just can’t tell if it’s in a good or a bad way.

As they get closer to Christmas, Shitty phases himself out of their Quidditch practices. He does it so slowly that Jack barely notices. Then by the time of the first game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, he realises it’s just been him and Kent for weeks. Jack doesn’t know how to ask Shitty about it when the three of them meet up to watch the game together from the Slytherin patch of the stands, wrapped up in their scarves. Jack was wearing his knit hat from his mum, but then he caught sight of his face in the mirror and it looked massive so he took the hat off. Kent had raised an eyebrow at him and Jack had forced it down over Kent’s cowlick. It was huge on him, and Kent had to keep pushing it up out of his eyes while they shouted at the players. Slytherin wasn’t putting up a very strong side when it came to their chasers, although their seeker seemed to be worth his weight which was good. Gryffindor, though, was casually obliterating them.

“Oh it’s going to be ’94 all over again,” Kent groans, watching through his fingers.

“What?” Shitty asks.

“Gryffindor will win but Slytherin will catch the snitch,” Jack supplies. Shitty nods, enlightened.

In the end, Jack and Kent’s predictions are correct, and Gryffindor does win, even though Slytherin catches the snitch.

“We’ll be better next year,” Kent says. “When I’m one of the chasers.”

Jack doesn’t doubt it.

* * *

 

When he gets home for Christmas, Jack sinks into the warmth of his childhood bedroom and feels like burrowing there forever. But his parents drag him out, make him tell them everything about Hufflepuff and his friends Kent and – and Jack has to try very hard to remember to call Shitty “B” instead of Shitty.

“You know, I never actually saw the Hufflepuff common room,” Alicia comments, petting Jack’s hair. “Is it as yellow as you’d think?”

“We’ve got a garden,” Jack says, which isn’t really an answer, but he loves the Hufflepuff garden. He just wishes he could fit in better with the rest of his house.

“Yeah? Cool,” Bob replies, smiling at him. They’re not acting disappointed that Jack’s in Hufflepuff and he doesn’t quite know how to process that. They’re supposed to be disappointed in him.

“And your friends, Kent and B, they’ve gone home for the holidays?” Alicia asks.

Jack nods. They’d both seemed very exasperated by the idea, but had gone anyway. Jack’s made sure to send them both signed posters of the Magpies because they’d asked, as well as proper Christmas gifts. He’d got Shitty a selection of things from the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes branch in Hogsmeade and Kent a bunch of things from Honeydukes. Kent always liked to complain about how Muggle sweets like they got in Hull were nothing compared to wizarding sweets.

His parents continue to not look disappointed in him the whole time he’s home. He even gets a decent haul of Christmas presents, including some sweets and a new updated copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ with a new introduction by Hermione Granger herself.

His parents take him back to Hogwarts themselves, rather than drag him down to London and stick him on the train. He meets Kent in the Great Hall where Kent is picking at a roll and staring at the table. When Jack sits down across from him, Kent looks up and gives him a wry grin that does nothing to hide the gruesome black eye he’s got.

“Holy Merlin, what happened to your face?” Jack demands.

“I got in a fight,” Kent says.

“With who?” Jack asks, trying to quell the horror in his chest. It doesn’t work very well.

“No one, doesn’t matter,” Kent says. Jack opens his mouth to demand answers but Kent glares. “Just drop it, Zimms.”

Jack gives him a reproachful look but doesn’t argue. Instead he pulls the sweets he’d got for Christmas from his bag and hands them to Kent.

“Jack,” Kent protests.

“I wasn’t going to eat them anyway,” Jack says, which is entirely true. “Just take them, Kent.”

Kent stares at him for a long minute and then takes the bag of sweets. He shakes his head at Jack. “You’re such a bloody Hufflepuff.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ me: why are you like this.
> 
> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com) (where we still have time to argue about Dex's sorting)


	2. First Year pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pronounced "yackle."

No matter what Kent says, Jack doesn’t feel like he’s a Hufflepuff. Their common room is so warm and lovely, the small traditions of cocoa and tea are so pleasant, and their reputation is for being so _good_ that Jack can’t help but think the Hat messed up. He’s not like the other Hufflepuffs, not like the girl in third year who spent her Christmas holiday replanting the bulbs in the common room garden, or the seventh year Head Boy who’s already started a charity for Muggleborn witches and wizards displaced by the Second Wizarding War. Jack doesn’t think about anything besides Quidditch, and sometimes Kent and Shitty.

And he doesn’t have any friends in his house except for Johnson, and that’s not even really a friendship. Johnson just spends his time captaining the Quidditch team, doing homework, or making out with his girlfriend, who’s in Gryffindor. Sometimes he’ll come by Jack and make sure he’s doing okay and hasn’t lost the plot. Every time he says it, Jack has to point out that no, he hasn’t gone crazy, but thanks for asking.

“He’s a bit…weird,” Kent says one day when they’re in the library. Johnson has just come by and shot them with finger guns and a wink before vanishing again. “He’s the captain of the Quidditch team in your house?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “And yeah he is. I dunno.”

Kent shrugs and opens his textbook again. Shitty is sleeping on his copy of the Transfiguration book on the other side of the library. Kent’s books, Jack notices, are second hand. They’re battered and worn, the name Dora Price written in the front. Jack assumes they’re Kent’s mum’s books.

Kent notices him looking and raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“Your books, they were your mum’s right?” Jack asks, because he’s already stuck his foot in it, so he might as well commit.

“Yeah,” Kent says. He flips the page in one. “I dunno what I’m gonna do once we get to sixth year though.”

“Why not?” Jack asks.

Kent shrugs. “She left after OWLs. Didn’t like school all that much.”

Jack just stares. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You’re not supposed to,” Kent says. “But anyway.”

He’s bristling, clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Jack can let it go, even though he feels a well of  guilt inside him. Both his parents had finished Hogwarts, and now his mum is a famous model and his dad is a famous Quidditch player. They can afford to buy Jack three sets of new books each year.

Jack doesn’t mention any of this to Kent, and they go back to their homework.

Spring comes to Hogwarts with beauty. The rough features of the Scottish Highlands bleed purple as the heather blooms, and the fog lasts for shorter periods of time in the mornings. Of course, to Jack, all of this is routine. It’s been his whole childhood growing up in Scotland, but Shitty and Kent are from farther south. Kent, not particularly far, but Shitty’s from Cambridgeshire and seems a little awed by the beauty of the Scottish mountains in spring.

They watch the Quidditch games while Gryffindor casually destroys all the opposition. But it’s been like that since Harry Potter started school, so Jack isn’t really surprised.

“We’ll both put up better fronts next year,” Kent assures him, clapping him on the shoulder after a particularly painful loss on Hufflepuff’s side. Johnson had only let two goals in, and the Hufflepuff chasers were doing their best, but Gryffindor’s seeker was superior and so they lost.

Jack tries not to let it get to him, but he feels certain that if he’d been on the pitch, the game would have gone differently. He finds Johnson in the common room later, looking a little morose.

“You played well,” Jack tells him, trying to squish himself into one of the comfortable yellow arm chairs. He wants to be small like Kent, and wants to be able to curl up in the plush fabric and not feel like a giant. But it doesn’t work that way, so he’s stuck the way he is.

“Thanks,” Johnson says. “You’ll be better for our Chasers line next year.”

“You can’t guarantee I’ll be on the team,” Jack points out. Johnson just shrugs and taps on his captain’s badge as if to say that oh yes he could.

“Trust me Jack,” he says. He grins at him and then hands him a cup of hot chocolate.

Jack knows he shouldn’t, but he takes it anyway and lets it warm him from the inside. Spring in Scotland might be beautiful, but it is not warm.

* * *

 

“Did you know,” Shitty says at the beginning of March. They’re at their usual table in the library studying for Herbology, which Jack is somehow expected to be good at because his head of house teaches it (he is not – he has a black thumb, and Professor Sprout has stopped letting him touch the plants), and making poor headway.

“Know what?” Kent asks, turning a page in his Herbology book. It tears a little under his fingers and Jack and Shitty both try not to wince. He’s got his cheek resting on his fist, squishing his cheek up into his eye.

“In their first year, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley managed to take on a fully grown mountain troll, find the Philosopher’s Stone, and completely duff up old Moldemort,” Shitty says. “And still did well on their exams.”

“You don’t know they did well on their exams,” Jack says.

“Oh yes I do! My mum works in the Department of Magical Law with Hermione Granger,” Shitty says. “I met her at a Ministry function once. I shook her hand!”

Jack suspects this was the real reason for Shitty’s comment about Harry Potter’s first year.

“Yeah, well, Jack can practically count Ginny Weasley as godmother, so,” Kent says. He flicks his eyebrow at Shitty in challenge, but hasn’t pulled his fist away from his face. Jack doesn’t know quite how to contradict him, because yes he does know Ginny Weasley since she’s played against his father more than a few times and has gone out for tea with his mother, but it’s not like Jack _knows_ her. “What does your dad do, Shits?”

“Oh,” Shitty says, colouring. He averts his eyes to his book. “He’s in jail.”

Jack and Kent exchange looks.

“Like Azkaban?” Jack asks.

“Nah, some bloody Muggle jail,” Shitty says. “Felony tax evasion.”

“Your pureblood father ended up in Muggle jail,” Kent repeats, his eyebrows near his hair. He glances at Jack to see if he heard the same thing, but Jack can just shrug.

“Yeah,” Shitty says. He shrugs like this is no big deal. “He’s a bit of a wanker. What’s your dad do, Kent?”

“He’s in Afghanistan,” Kent says, looking back down at his textbook.

“What on earth is he doing there?” Shitty asks. Jack remembers Kent saying on the Hogwarts Express that his dad was in the army, but he can’t remember if Shitty was there to hear it.

“He’s in the army,” Kent says. “There’s sort of a war on in the Muggle world.”

“Oh,” Shitty says, looking ashamed of himself. Jack claps Kent on the shoulder, because he can’t think of another way to express the idea he’s there for him, because he’s fairly certain Kent would reject a hug.

“Sorry,” Shitty mumbles. Kent lifts his shoulders like he might mean to shrug, but ends up just leaving them raised towards his ears like a turtle retreating into its shell.

* * *

 

It’s early in April, after Slytherin have trounced Ravenclaw (Kent blows raspberries at Shitty until the poltergeist, Peeves, joins in and starts chasing him around with spit balls) that Johnson drops a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on Jack’s breakfast plate and saunters back off to the Gryffindor table to have breakfast with his girlfriend. Jack’s dorm mates look on curiously while Jack unrolls the paper. He expects the headline to be something about his dad or his mum, but it’s not. Instead the headline is one long acronym.

_ The ICWEO in Partnership with the ICWQC, the IQA, and FIQA Announce the IAQL _

_Geneva, Switzerland_

_Earlier this month the International Confederation of Wizards announced the fruits of a joint project between the Quidditch Committee and the Educational Office that has been in the works since the end of the Second Wizarding War. The project has been in partnership with the International Quidditch Association and the Federation Internationale de Quidditch Association._

_“International cooperation in the wizarding world has always been a tricky subject,” ICW Chairwizard Marcellus d’Angelou said to the reporters present at the announcement. “Obviously we have all been good at coming together on the front of International Secrecy since 1692 and for the Quidditch World Cup since 1473 but other than that the chief effort at international interaction has been the Triwizard Tournament which has only ever been held between the western European institutions Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Clearly the time is ripe for change.”_

_Chairwizard d’Angelou went on to state that the new project is not yet ready for implementation, as the ICWQC is still ironing out the details, but he did say he had great hopes for the success of the pilot programme which is slated for 2007._

_“We believe that the International Academic Quidditch League will help foster international connections between our young people while they still have better – oh what’s the blasted Muggle word for the thing?” Quidditch Committee chairwitch Shannon Richland said shortly after Chairwizard d’Angelou’s announcement. “Oh! Neuroplasticity! I’ve no idea what the ruddy hell that means, but I’m pretty sure it means they remember things better or something.”_

_Chairwitch Richland enjoyed thirteen seasons with the Tutshill Tornados and played for England in the World Cup in 1986 and 1990 as a beater, where she earned a record for most hits sustained by a bludger during a game without ending play._

_“We’re still ironing out the rules and polishing the broomsticks as it were, but we’ve got a good feeling about it,” Chairwitch Richland continued. “What I can tell you so far is that there’ll be one team from each of the fourteen ICW schools to enter into the tourney, that it’ll be played in the summer so as to not interfere with the school year, and that it’ll be a bloody blast.”_

_So keep your eyes peeled for the IAQL._

Jack folds up the article and hands it to one of his dorm mates who wants a look. Jack scans the Slytherin table for Kent and sees him just putting down the paper himself. He catches Jack’s eye and grins. When they get to class, the first thing out of his mouth is, “I wonder if they’ll put in age restrictions.”

“Probably,” Jack says. “But it’ll be younger than Britain and Ireland’s.”

“Well sure, obviously, if we’re meant to all be in school,” Kent agrees.

“Already saying ‘we’ Parson?” Jack asks, grinning at him.

“Oh you know full well we’re both going to be on the Hogwarts team,” Kent says. “Let’s just hope the age limit is 14 if they are gonna start it in 2007.”

Shitty looks between them, nothing but confusion in his green eyes. “What on earth are you two talking about?”

“The International Academic Quidditch League,” Jack says.

“They’re making it sound like it’s going to be somewhere above Hogwarts level, which is already above the pee-wee level,” Kent adds. “The best players from the school on one team, competing internationally.”

Shitty’s eyes light up. “That sounds amazing,” he says. He taps the feather of his quill on his inkpot for a moment. “Can I start practicing with you two again?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack says, ignoring Kent’s huff. Jack knows what the huff is about. It’s because he and Kent are on the same level, and Shitty is not, but Shitty is their friend, so surely they can all practice Quidditch together.

“Good,” Shitty says. “It’ll make it easier to get on Ravenclaw’s team. And then the reserves for this whole…All-Hogwarts team.”

“Just the reserves?” Kent asks. Jack steps on the edge of his foot under the table when there’s an edge to his voice.

“Well yeah,” Shitty says. “I’m not like the two of you.”

He shrugs and sits up straight to take his Transfiguration notes.

Jack can’t remember ever being this excited about something before. The details keep building in the next few months, mentioning that the regular Quidditch season is from September until June save for World Cup years, so the IAQL can expect coaches from the national teams, and Jack is practically bouncing off the walls about it by the time they’re boarding the Hogwarts Express for home. He’s apparently the only one of the three who’s excited to be going home, though, so his happiness dims as they travel south.

“What are you doing for your holidays?” Jack asks, eating a pepper imp and tossing a sugar mouse to Kent.

“Dunno,” Kent says. “There’s not really anything to do in Hull.”

“Really? Nothing?” Jack asks.

“I mean, there’s Hull Fair but that’s in October,” Kent says. “Mostly there’s just trekking out to Beverley to play Quidditch.”

“Well isn’t that good?” Jack asks.

Kent shrugs and swallows the sugar mouse whole. Jet, Jack’s owl, and Roach, Shitty’s, watch him with big lamp eyes, like they’re hoping Kent will share with them.

“It’s not a real mouse,” he says, dangling another one by its crystal tail. Jet hoots softly and Kent shakes his head. “They’re ridiculous.”

“Roach is definitely ridiculous,” Shitty agrees. “But Jet’s pretty.”

Jack reaches through the bars to stroke her head and she hoots again.

“You don’t have a pet, Kent,” Shitty says. “Why not?”

Kent shrugs and Jack feels fairly confident it’s because Kent can’t afford one.

“Would you want an owl?” Jack asks, because he knows Kent’s birthday is coming up in July. He’ll have to ask his mum if it’s weird to get his best friend a pet for a birthday, but he thinks he’ll probably do it anyway.

“Nah, I’d like a cat though,” Kent says. He shrugs, but Jack mentally takes note.

“I have to visit my dad’s parents over the summer,” Shitty announces when it becomes clear no one’s going to ask him. “They’re the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Shitty asks.

“Just playing Quidditch at home,” Jack says. “My dad’s got the summers off, so he’ll be around.”

Kent looks up at him with something Jack belatedly identifies as hope.

“Maybe you could come visit?” Jack suggests. “If it’s okay with your mum?”

“Yeah I’ll ask!” Kent enthuses, and he looks much cheerier for the rest of the train ride, even after Shitty beats them both at gobstones.

They arrive at King’s Cross late in the evening, but since it’s June, it’s still light out. Jack finds his mum waiting on the platform looking so thrilled to see him. She wraps him in a tight hug, and then turns to introduce herself to Shitty and Kent.

“You must be Kent and B,” she says, smiling widely at both of them. She keeps her arm around Jack’s shoulders, although he notes that she has to lift her arm a bit to do it now. She can’t just drape her arm across his shoulders, since he’s gotten taller.

“It’s Shitty actually, Mrs Zimmermann,” Shitty says, not a hint of shame in his voice. Alicia’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t otherwise react.

“Of course, so sorry,” she says, and Jack thinks he sees the corner of her mouth twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

Kent just nods at Alicia, looking polite and unassuming. Jack’s never seen him look that way before and isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Mum, do you suppose Kent can come visit sometime this summer?” Jack asks.

“I don’t see why not,” Alicia replies. “What about for your birthday?”

Jack agrees because he doesn’t have a better suggestion.

They go their separate ways once Shitty’s mum shows up, and head for the Muggle world. The Zimmermanns are spending the first part of the summer together on holiday in France so they can visit Bob’s parents, and Jack is perfectly okay with that.

The summer goes by quickly, and Jack sends Kent a birthday present in July in the form of new broom polish.

“Broom polish, really?” Alicia asks. “For your best friend?”

Kent writes back that it’s exactly what he wanted, and Jack shows the letter to Alicia in triumph while Bob laughs. It’s not Jack’s real birthday present though. That’s for later. That’s for August when Kent comes to visit.

He shows up the day before Jack’s birthday by Floo, and he brings all his Hogwarts things. Jack is delighted to see him, and hugs him quickly. Kent pushes him off after a second, a little pink in the face. It’s then that Jack notices he’s got a split lip and a bruise on his jaw. He watches as Alicia also notices this problem, and her eyes go wide.

“Watch it, Zimms, you’re gonna mess up my hair,” Kent says, giving Jack a playful push on the shoulder.

“Your hair’s always messed up,” Jack says, ruffling his hair until Kent laughs.

Jack shows him to his room and tells Kent he gets to pick whether he wants to stay in the guest room or on a kit bed in Jack’s room. Kent looks like he’s going to say Jack’s room until Jack shows him the guest room. Kent’s multihued eyes go wide at the sight of the bed, made up in fluffy down blankets and spare throw pillows. Kent glances out the window at the Montrose Basin and over the lowlands of Angus and then back at Jack.

“Yeah, I’ll take this room,” he says, flopping onto the bed. It’s so much bigger than him and the blankets are so plush that he sinks right into them and practically disappears. Jack laughs and flops down next to him. “This bed is bigger than my entire room in Hull.”

“Seriously?” Jack asks.

Kent makes a noise of uncertain agreement and wobbles his hand as if to say “more or less.”

“What are we doing for your birthday?” Kent asks.

“It’s not for two days,” Jack replies. “We haven’t properly done yours yet.”

“Mate, you got me broom polish, like, the good stuff,” Kent says. “That pretty much made it perfect.”

“Yeah, but, come on,” Jack says, fighting his way out of the down nest and to his feet. Kent has to be dragged, but he goes anyway, oozing off the end of the bed and into a puddle on the floor. Jack pulls him to his feet and they tromp down the stairs back to the den where Alicia and Bob quickly spring apart. Jack winces at them and Bob laughs at his expression.

“You must be Kent,” Bob says, shaking his hand. Jack can see the stars in Kent’s eyes as he’s confronted with the reality that is Bad Bob Zimmermann. “Glad you could come visit.”

“It’s an honour, sir,” Kent breathes.

“Maybe I’ll grill for dinner,” Bob says, looking pensive.

“Oh, Merlin, please no,” Jack says.

“Why not?” Kent asks.

“Sweetie, perhaps maybe wait until the boy’s been here a few days before you try to kill him,” Alicia suggests, patting Bob’s arm in a conciliatory manner. Jack can’t quite keep the look of horror off his face.

“I’m a fine griller!” Bob insists while Alicia and Jack both look worried.

“You make a marvellous fry-up and we’ll leave it there, alright?” Alicia requests.

“In my own home! Never before…so offended,” Bob mumbles as he traipses off to the kitchen shaking his head. Jack and Alicia breathe sighs of relief.

“We’re going to go do the thing?” Jack says, looking at Alicia with hopeful eyes. “The thing we talked about?”

Kent raises his eyebrow but doesn’t ask.

“Alright,” Alicia says. “Be back before tea. Kent, we’re glad to have you.”

Kent grins toothily at her and then follows Jack out of the house and down the road to city centre. They chat about Quidditch on the way and make plans to practice over the month they’ll be together in Jack’s house, and discuss strategies for getting Bob involved for the sake of pointers.

“You don’t suppose he’s going to be one of the coaches for the IAQL do you?” Kent asks.

“No, I’ve asked,” Jack says, trying not to sound relieved. They still don’t have many details about it, but he knows he doesn’t want his dad as his coach if he makes the team.

They get to city centre and Jack leads Kent down to a side road. They pass a pub, and another, and then end up in front of the Montrose Animal Shelter.

“Jack,” Kent says, looking from Jack to the shelter and back. “Jack, what--”

Jack tugs him into the shelter where the woman at the front counter smiles at them.

“Oh, Jack!” she says. “Is this the friend you and your mum were talking about?”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. Kent’s eyes are still huge and he looks rather as though someone’s smacked him in the face with a beater’s bat.

“And it was cats, right?” the woman asks. She steps out from behind the counter and leads them into the animal pens, where there are floor to ceiling cages full of cats of all sizes and shapes and colours. Kent follows in a daze, his jaw hanging slack. “Now let’s see, if you’re taking it to school, you probably don’t want a kitten, so…”

She trails off looking at all the cats. Jack nudges Kent forward and he stumbles into one of the cages. There’s a small, absurdly fluffy cat in it with the prettiest blue eyes Jack has ever seen on a cat.

“Hey look she’s got your eyes,” Kent says, pointing at the cat and grinning at Jack. He sticks his finger through the bars and the cat pads forward to rub her face against it. Kent scritches under her chin and Jack can hear her purring from his spot.

“Oh she’s a lovely one, isn’t she?” the woman asks, unlatching the cage. “We think she’s about eight months old. We’ve been calling her Kitten.”

Kitten climbs happily into Kent’s arms and flicks her tail around his arm before putting her paws on his shoulder and licking his ear. Kent laughs, so bright and clear that it makes Jack feel warm inside. He smiles and waits for Kent to confirm that he wants this cat.

“I can really have her?” he asks, looking up at Jack with the brightest smile Jack has ever seen him wear.

“Yeah!” Jack says. “She’s your birthday present.”

For a moment it looks like Kent’s going to cry, but he doesn’t.

“Now, we’ll get your name on the papers and get the carrier Mrs Zimmermann picked out, and you boys will be set to go,” the woman says, steering them out into the lobby again. Kent cradles Kitten close and Jack can hear her purring. He can’t help but smile at just how happy Kent looks.

“I think I’ll just call her Kit,” Kent says, rubbing her ears and finally agreeing to put her in her carrying case for the walk home.

“Kit sounds a bit like Kent,” Jack points out as they leave.

Kent shrugs. “Fine then,” he says. “Her name is Kit Purrson.”

“It’s pretty snakey to name your cat after yourself,” Jack informs him, bumping into his shoulder with his own. It ends up being Jack’s elbow more than his shoulder, because he’s still that much taller than Kent, but he tries not to dwell. “Guess the Hat did right by you.”

Kent laughs and holds the case carrying Kit closer. He sobers long enough to say a very heartfelt “thank you.” They spend the rest of the walk home laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the Montrose Basin is the largest inland saltwater basin in the UK and is an important habitat for the Mute Swan. (Jack takes a lot of pictures of the swans, even though everyone else knows them to be evil, because they are swans)
> 
> Additional notes: Check out my [Halloween Fic-a-Thon](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com/13-days-of-halloween) announcement and get excited with me! It's gonna be fun!
> 
> Also, please god help me come up with the names for the 12 fictional (by which I mean non-canonical, since obviously they're all fictional) wizarding schools I've created for myself. You can do that [here](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com/ask).


	3. Second Year pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week because there won't be any next week. On the one hand, I will be on vacation, so who knows if I'll have time to write, and on the other hand, updates. 
> 
> And introducing in this chapter one Eric Richard Bittle!

The rest of the summer passes in a blur of Quidditch and teaching Kit Purrson how to behave like a proper cat. She spends most of her time riding on Kent’s shoulders like a parrot until Bob starts calling him Captain Kent and throwing in an unnecessary number of “aye aye matey”s. Both Jack and Kent are in good spirits as they board the Hogwarts Express. They’re not exactly _late,_ but they’re certainly not early and they don’t have time to try and figure out what compartment Shitty’s in before the train starts moving.

“I suppose one of us goes up, the other goes down, and whoever finds him comes and gets the other one?” Kent suggests, scanning the corridor for any familiar faces.

“Or we could just pick a direction,” Jack replies. Kent shrugs and they set off towards the back of the train. Kit is still perched on Kent’s shoulder and Jet is blinking at her curiously from her cage. They’re partway down the train when suddenly a black cat that’s almost as big as Kent comes running out of a compartment and barrels straight towards them. It’s walleyed, and has vampire fangs, and is either simply massive or the majority of its bulk is fluff. Either way, it’s probably the ugliest cat Jack has ever seen and it’s making a run for it.

Without warning, an absolutely miniscule boy runs into the corridor after it and tackles it to the ground right in front of Jack and Kent’s feet. They both stare down at the boy, who offers them an awkward smile.

“Sorry!” he says, collecting the cat and standing up. “We got him at a shop in that alley place? The one with all the shops? The lady said no one had ever wanted him which is just complete madness, I mean look at his little face!”

The boy struggles to hold the cat up so that one of its yellow eyes is staring at Jack and Kent while the other stares at its owner.

“I’ve named him Peaches,” the boy continues. “The lady said he’s probably part kneazle but I dunno what a kneazle is. Do either of you?”

Jack and Kent exchange looks. Kit bristles and licks her paw with a delicate pink tongue in a very dignified way that seems to insinuate that Peaches, the ball of fluffy monstrosity, is an abomination.

“It’s a sort of cat thing,” Kent says slowly. Jack looks the boy over. Peaches is almost the same size as he is, and he’s a good three inches smaller than Kent even. He’s blond, and his hair sticks up in the back, and his eyes are too big for his face. There’s no way he’s eleven.

“You’re sure you’re eleven?” Jack asks.

“Yeah!” the boy says, seemingly unaware of how genuine Jack’s question is. “I’ve just turned eleven back in May. It was a total shock when a letter for some place called Hogwarts turned up with an – oh my gosh you’ve got an owl? Like a real live proper owl? What’s its name? What species is it?”

“Her name’s Jet,” Jack says. He doesn’t know what to make of this small Muggleborn boy. He’s far too enthusiastic about everything. “She’s a lesser sooty owl.”

“It just sounds like an insult,” Kent says, resuming an old argument. “Like no, Jet’s not a lesser sooty anything, _you’re_ a lesser sooty…I dunno? Scotsman?”

“She’s my owl,” Jack retorts.

“And your cat’s so pretty!” the boy enthuses, blinking his abnormally large brown eyes at Kit. Kit brushes her face against Kent’s cheek in a show of possessiveness that Jack has come to expect from Kent’s friend.

“Peaches is…nice…too,” Kent tries, looking to Jack for help like he’s supposed to know what to do with this first year. Jack swears neither he nor Kent were that small last year. Him especially.

“Yeah, but he was trying to eat someone’s pet rat, so,” the boy says, bopping Peaches on the nose in reprimand. “’Cause he’s naughty. I’m hoping he won’t be a right pest in the dormitories, but maybe he’ll keep any vermin under control? Are there vermin at Hogwarts?”

“Just the Gryffindors,” Kent says. Jack elbows him.

“What’s a Gryffindor?” the boy asks, his eyes wide. “Is that some kind of mouse thing?”

“Erm, no,” Jack says.

They’re saved by Shitty appearing behind them and clapping each of them on the shoulder. Kent jumps wildly and almost displaces Kit, but fortunately she has better sticking power than that.

“Parse, who’s your friend?” Shitty asks.

“Oh, this is Kit,” Kent says. Kit obligingly flicks Shitty in the face with her tail. “She thinks she’s a princess.”

Jack raises his eyebrow.

“She’s right, of course,” Kent adds.

Shitty stares at him inscrutably for a second and then nods at the small first year. “I meant the human, but it’s nice to meet the cat too.”

“Oh, this is…” Kent starts, and Jack watches him realise neither of them know the boy’s name. Just the cat’s.

“Eric Bittle,” the boy says, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Peaches so he can shake Shitty’s hand. “And this is Peaches.”

Shitty shakes Eric’s hand while nodding slowly. “You’ve named a black cat _Peaches_ ,” he says.

“We’ve a peach tree,” Eric says. “I think it’s the only one in England or something.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration,” Jack replies, but Eric just shrugs.

“So do witches and wizards really fly around on broomsticks?” Eric asks, his eyes bright with delight. “That sounds amazing.”

“Well, yeah, we do,” Shitty says. “Muggleborn?”

“I’ve no idea what that means,” Eric replies.

“So yes,” Shitty says. “And yeah, we do fly around on brooms. Playing Quidditch.”

“What on earth is Quidditch?” Eric asks. “It sounds sort of funny, doesn’t it? Is it some sort of sport then?”

Jack and Kent wince involuntarily and let Shitty take the lead in steering Eric and Peaches to a compartment to tell him all about Quidditch. Shitty lets Eric sit with them the whole train ride, and even buys him Bertie Botts when the trolley comes around, even though Jack points out that it’s needlessly cruel.

“It’s a perfectly reasonable introduction to wizarding society,” Shitty replies. “Besides it’s not like he’s going to get--”

“It tastes like sport socks,” Eric says, wincing and swallowing the offending bean anyway. “Why does it taste like sport socks?”

Shitty bursts out laughing and spends the rest of the train ride explaining how the beans work while Eric listens attentively and devours a chocolate frog instead.

Jack and Kent ignore them and spend their time discussing strategies for how they’re going to get on the house teams that year. Slytherin apparently doesn’t hold open try-outs every year, so Kent’s going to have to get creative. Jack doesn’t envy him. Hufflepuff does have open try-outs and Johnson has more or less assured him he’ll make the team. But Jack wants to earn it. He wants to be the best chaser on the Hufflepuff team. He spent all last year watching them play, and he knows he’s got a bit of a fair chance at making that a reality. Kent will definitely be the best chaser on Slytherin, but he has to get on the team first.

The train deposits them in Hogsmeade and Eric bounces off with the rest of the first years, taking his incessant chatter and questions with him.

“I like him,” Shitty declares as the three of them make their way along a path with the rest of the traffic. Jack’s not entirely sure how students above first year get to the school, but he discovers it’s a fleet of black carriages. Kent eyes them oddly but climbs into the carriage anyway.

“You would like him,” Kent says. “He talks almost as much as you do.”

Shitty’s jaw drops in mock offence – at least Jack thinks it’s mock – and he presses a hand to his chest.

“I’m so – how dare,” Shitty says with overdramatic flair. “I talk a perfectly reasonable amount--”

“For a magpie maybe,” Jack says.

“You’re the magpie,” Shitty says, crossing his arms and looking grumpy. “Son of the captain of them anyway.”

Jack wants to fight back against that, but he is. He is the son of the captain of the Montrose Magpies, and he could get on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team just by saying that. The thought makes him a little nauseous and he’s not sure why.

Shitty and Kent chirp each other the rest of the ride to Hogwarts and only stop when they have to head to their respective tables. Jack sits down with the boys from his dormitory who nod at him in recognition, but don’t say anything. Jack doesn’t know how to respond to that, or how to start a conversation, so he just nods back and stares at his plate while the first years file in. They stand quivering in the centre of the hall, particularly two of them. Jack recognises one of them as Eric, and the other is an equally tiny girl with black hair. Both of them are soaking wet like they might have fallen into the lake. Jack wonders what’s wrong with him that his first thought is that Eric now knows whether or not the lake is a proper loch.

The deputy headmaster holds up the scroll of names and starts calling them off. The largest first year is in the Bs, a boy named Birkholtz. He grins as he takes the stool and then bounds off to Gryffindor with too much energy. Eric is next, a stark contrast to Gryffindor Birkholtz. Jack realises he doesn’t know if Shitty told Eric anything about the houses.

“Hufflepuff!” the Hat shouts as soon as it touches Eric’s head. Eric looks a little confused until someone nudges him off to Jack’s table. Eric drops wetly into the seat next to him and _beams_ like he’s made of sunshine.

“You fell in the lake?” Jack guesses.

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. “It was all salty. I thought it was gonna be a normal lake, but no.”

 _So it is a loch_ , Jack thinks.

The small girl that fell into the lake along with Eric is only a few people later, and Larissa Duan ends up in Ravenclaw. She shivers until Shitty hands her his Ravenclaw scarf.

“She’s the one with the rat that my cat tried to eat,” Eric says at a whisper. Jack nods, even though he really doesn’t care.

The rest of the sorting is uneventful except for the sheer amount of noise Gryffindor Birkholtz makes when a boy named Justin Oluransi joins him in Gryffindor House.

“They met on the train,” Johnson informs Jack as though Jack was curious. “Beaters, both of them.”

“They’re first years,” Jack replies. They might play beater, but they don’t get to for at least a year.

Johnson shrugs and then turns to introduce himself to the first years. Jack wants to ask him when Quidditch try-outs are, but it seems like he’ll have to wait. Finally the feast is over and Jack can head back to the Hufflepuff dormitories and go to sleep. He says his goodbyes to Shitty and Kent in the corridor and then retreats. He buries himself in the sunshine yellow bedding of his dormitory bed and tucks his head under the covers.

The first day of classes sees the first year Hufflepuffs roving together in a tightly knit pack, much unlike Jack’s own year. Jack, Kent, and Shitty watch them go, followed by a blue clad pack of first year Ravenclaws, a first year pack of Gryffindors seemingly led by Birkholtz and Oluransi, and a fleet of first year Slytherins.

“So much for inter-house unity I guess,” one of the Gryffindors in their year, a girl named Camilla, says, watching them go.

“Seriously,” Shitty agrees. “But at least they all get along.”

Jack shrugs and they head to class. They’ve still got all their classes with the entire year, and Jack is still glad because it means he still has class with Kent and Shitty.

Quidditch try-outs aren’t until the third week of school. During that time, Jack has to watch the other boys in his dormitory start to spend all their time together. He knows why. He’s always off with Kent and Shitty, rather than any of his housemates. And besides, Jack is a bad Hufflepuff. He doesn’t have the compassionate streak that the rest of them possess, or the brightness that oozes out of some of his housemates. The only person he’s ever been compassionate towards is Kent, and he’s a Slytherin. The irony isn’t entirely lost on Jack.

He gets back to the dormitories the day before Quidditch try-outs to find someone’s made the strangest looking cauldron cakes he’s ever seen. They’ve got pink frosting on them and seem to be chocolate rather than pumpkin and are just…sitting there in the centre of the common room for anyone to take.

“What’s with the cauldron cakes?” Jack asks.

“Oh, Bitty made them,” one of his dorm mates says. “Calls ‘em cupcakes, dunno why. Want one?”

“No,” Jack says. The last thing he needs is the sugar that’s inherent to a cauldron cake, even if it’s called by another name.

“They’re good,” his dorm mate says. He holds one out to Jack.

“I said no,” Jack replies. “And what’s Bitty? Is that one of the house elves?”

His dorm mate, Tyler, raises his eyebrows. “Erm, no? Itty Bitty Bittle? The first year?”

“Oh, Eric?” Jack says. He’s still not taking the cauldron cake and Tyler’s still holding it out.

“Sure but no one calls him that,” Tyler says. “Everyone just calls him Bitty.”

Jack nods slowly. “How did he make cauldron cakes?”

“Oh, I found the kitchen!” a small voice trills from behind him. Jack turns to find Eric standing there looking bright and sunny in Hufflepuff yellow. “It’s just some painting. Apparently if you tickle the pear? I dunno, it’s all very odd here isn’t it? Aren’t you going to eat the cupcake, Jack?”

“No,” Jack says, and he takes himself off to his dormitory, oblivious to the crushed look on Eric’s face.

He’s not nervous, exactly, when he gets up on Saturday for the Quidditch try-outs, but he’s not at ease. It’s a little like there’s ants crawling under his skin and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Johnson claps him on the shoulder when it’s time to head out to the pitch, and Jack nods. The trek down the sloping lawn to the stands feels a bit like he’s walking on the path to the rest of his life, which is maybe the strangest sensation he’s ever experienced. He holds his broom, feeling oversized next to the other people trying out. He’s one of the largest chasers trying out and he’s only a second year, and a fairly young one at that. He doesn’t like that, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

The tiny seekers are in their corner and for some reason Jack half expects Bittle to be among them. He’s not, of course, since he’s only a first year, but he’s smaller than most of them. Johnson calls for flying drills, to make sure everyone can stay in the air before they get to the skills tests. This, this is what Jack is good at.

He hops on his broom and flies circles around everyone else. He’s faster, and better at handling than the others, and he doesn’t mean to start showing off and doing barrel rolls, but he can’t help it. He hears someone whistle from the stands and looks over to see Shitty and Kent cheering him on with pieces of toast clutched in their hands. Shitty appears to have pilfered a mug of coffee from the Great Hall as well.

Jack waves at them and lands while Johnson sends the absolute aerial disasters off the pitch. They divide back into their skill groups and Jack catches everything thrown at him, scores past Johnson twice, and feels completely exhilarated by the time the try-outs are over.

“Alright folks, I’ll have the team roster posted by Wednesday,” Johnson announces, sending everyone back to the castle.

Kent and Shitty catch up with Jack at the edge of the pitch and if Shitty’s eyes weren’t naturally green, Jack would say they were green with envy.

“How d’you learn to fly that way?” he asks.

“Practice,” Jack says.

“Natural talent,” Kent adds.

“Some combination of both,” Jack amends. “I mean, anyone can be a technically proficient flier.”

“Yeah, that’s all I am,” Shitty says, glum. “I suppose it’ll have to do. Our try-outs are next week.”

“When are yours, Kent?” Jack asks.

“Well, apparently one of the chasers got on the wrong side of Slughorn and has been banned from playing so they’re desperately looking for a replacement while he’s got detention,” Kent says. “I’m flying with them tomorrow to see if I’m an acceptable substitute.”

“They’re not just gonna keep you as a substitute though, are they?” Jack asks.

“I shouldn’t think,” Kent agrees. “Not once they’ve seen how well I can play.”

Jack nods approvingly and the three of them head in for lunch. Bittle, for some reason, appears to be holding court at one end of the Hufflepuff table, so the three of them relocate to Ravenclaw. The small girl who fell in the lake with Bittle is sitting a few people down, sketching in a notebook.

“She always does that,” Shitty says, nodding down at her. “In the common room. Always has a sketchbook. No idea what she’s drawing.”

“I suppose it’s not really any of our business, yeah?” Kent points out. Jack nods in agreement and Shitty shrugs.

“Let’s just worry about what we’re going to do about Herbology,” Jack replies, pulling out his homework.

“Forget Herbology, Sprout’s a gem,” Shitty says. “What the bloody hell are we gonna do about History of Magic?”

“History of Magic is easy,” Jack says, staring at both of them in confusion. Kent and Shitty grimace at him and he’s pretty sure Kent calls him a nerd under his breath. Jack kicks him in the foot either way and Kent snorts.

“So has anyone heard anything else about the IAQL?” Shitty asks. “Jack you said your dad’s not gonna coach, right?”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, recalling the letter he’d got from his dad. “They want someone younger for the All-Hogwarts team. They’re gonna be starting the first year of competition in summer of 2008 I guess.”

“Oh, they’ve already pushed it back?” Kent asks. He sounds unsurprised.

“We should be happy about that,” Jack replies. “You have to be fourteen at the start of the season in order to compete and we won’t be fourteen on June 15th, 2007. But we will be on June 15th, 2008.”

Kent looks pensive for a moment and then nods. “Good,” he says.

Jack can’t wait for Wednesday. Johnson is inscrutable, which just makes the ants crawl under Jack’s skin again. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t make the team, or worse, makes the reserves. It seems like it would be unfairly cruel to say he was good but not good enough. At least if he doesn’t make the team, then he’s just bad, and he can maybe, probably, someday make his peace with that.

Kent bounds into class on Monday with bright eyes. Jack knows that he’s made the team before he even says anything and claps him on the shoulder. Kent’s grin only gets bigger.

“What’s got you so smiley?” Shitty asks while they sit down in Transfiguration.

“I’m the substitute player,” Kent says. “But I overheard the captain talking to the other chasers, and I’m pretty sure they’re waiting until the first game, but then they’re going to just pitch the other bloke and make me the permanent third.”

“Congratulations!” Shitty says. Kent beams.

Jack wakes up at the crack of dawn on Wednesday and sneaks into the common room. It’s well before anyone else should be awake, and he thinks the common room is entirely deserted until yellow lamp eyes stare at him from one of the armchairs. Jack stares back through the gloom and eventually realises it’s Peaches, Bittle’s monster cat. Peaches blinks his sideways eyes at Jack and then stretches a paw out. There’s a small huff of breath, and Jack realises Bittle is somewhere below Peaches in the chair, completely asleep. He’s using the massive cat as a blanket, and Jack imagines it’s quite effective. A Charms textbook is lying open across the arm of the chair, and a half written essay spills off the edge. Jack decides to ignore him and perches on one of the other chairs, waiting for Johnson to get up and post the roster.

Bittle wakes up the same times Johnson leaves the sixth year boys’ dormitory. Johnson looks them both over and then ignores Jack and the intense way he’s staring at the parchment Johnson is holding. Instead, Johnson crosses to Bittle and nudges him awake.

“Wha…” Bittle starts, blinking sleepily. He looks around the common room in confusion, then down at his half-finished Charms essay. “Oh no.”

He sounds a bit like he’s going to cry, and Jack doesn’t know how to help him.

“Oh no it’s due today, what am I going to--”

“Jack, you’re good at Charms, right?” Johnson says. He’s using his prefect and captain voice and Jack quails. “Help Bitty out.”

Jack wants to protest, but he doesn’t know how. So he grumbles.

“Can I at least know who’s on the team first?” he asks.

Johnson hands him the list. Jack reads no farther than the point where he’s listed first under the chasers and then hands it back.

“Now help Itty Bitty Bittle,” Johnson instructs. “It’s my first order as your captain.”

Bittle is rubbing his nose like he’s afraid it’s going to start running and Jack feels a pang of pity that he doesn’t like.

“Yeah, alright,” Jack says. Bittle’s face lights up like he’s made of actual sunshine or something. “Can we at least go to the Great Hall for it so we can have breakfast?”

Bittle agrees and displaces Peaches, grabs his Charms book and his essay, and trails after Jack into the corridor. He’s an actual foot shorter than Jack, Jack realises. Jack is already the tallest person in his year, and Bittle has to be the smallest in his own, but he’d be genuinely shocked if Bittle has cleared five feet yet.

Bittle doesn’t stop thanking him the entire trip to the Great Hall and Jack wants to tell him to just stop because he’s absolutely not doing this willingly, but that seems unnecessarily mean.

They’re not the first to reach the Great Hall, because apparently first years don’t sleep for some reason, and Birkholtz and Oluransi are unconscious leaning against each other at the Gryffindor table and Bittle’s friend Larissa is curled up in a ball at the Ravenclaw table.

Jack talks Bittle through his essay over kippers and toast, and realises he has to keep reminding him to eat.

“I’m not hungry,” Bittle replies. He actually sounds like he means it, which makes no sense to Jack. Jack is always hungry. His dad keeps saying it’s because he’s growing, but Jack is pretty sure the only direction he’s growing is _out_.

“Yeah, but if you don’t eat, you’re going to stay that size,” Jack replies.

Bittle stares at him with big, sad eyes that make Jack feel like he’s just kicked a puppy. He shrugs off the guilt and piles a few eggs onto Bittle’s plate anyway.

“Are you good at Quidditch?” Bittle asks, scratching out the last sentence of his homework and waiting patiently for the ink to dry before rolling it up.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Why?”

Bittle shrugs. “I’ve never been on a broom,” he says. “Does the lake freeze over Christmas?”

“Erm, no? It’s salt water,” Jack says. He frowns at Bittle in confusion.

“Oh,” Bittle says, sounding disappointed.

“Why?” Jack asks.

Bittle shrugs. “I can’t ice skate then,” he says. Jack understands both the words “ice” and “skate” but not in conjunction. “It’s a Muggle sport. Sort of. It’s technically called ice dancing, but you have to ice skate in order to dance and – never mind.”

He stops talking when it becomes blindingly obvious Jack has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You should have your first flying lesson soon,” Jack says, because he has no idea what else to say.

Fortunately, more people are arriving for breakfast and Jack can make his escape to the Ravenclaw table to sit with Shitty until Kent joins them.

“So Zimms, did you--” Kent starts.

“Yeah,” Jack interrupts, grinning. Kent high fives him and Shitty gives them both a nervous look. “Your try-outs are tomorrow aren’t they, Shits?”

Shitty agrees and doesn’t look any less nervous over the course of the day. But Jack and Kent both attend his try-outs. Shitty flies better than most of the people trying for the team, but Ravenclaw are sort of crap at Quidditch, so Jack’s not entirely sure it’s something to be proud of.

But either way he’s pretty sure Shitty will make the team.

They find this out for sure on Saturday when Shitty bounces into the Great Hall with enthusiasm and hugs both Jack and Kent tightly.

“I look forward to playing against you glorious bastards,” he says, ruffling Kent’s hair until Kent shoves him away.

“Yeah, should be fun right?” Kent agrees. “Looking forward to kicking your arse, Zimms.”

He’s grinning at Jack and for some reason the ants are back under Jack’s skin. He doesn’t understand why.

* * *

 

The first game of the season is Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Jack borrows Kent’s Slytherin scarf so he can cheer more appropriately. He doesn’t mean to spend most of the game analysing the teams for weaknesses, but he can’t help it. Kent is easily the best player on the pitch, on either team, so Jack focuses his attention on the others. Slytherin’s beaters are sloppy with their aim, but their keeper is solid. It comes down to Gryffindor’s seeker though, who is wicked fast and tiny. It almost makes Jack want to convince Bittle to go out for seeker, because Bittle is even smaller.

Slytherin win by a landslide because their seeker does manage to catch the snitch, and Kent’s made about ten goals himself. The other chasers can’t even compete.

“Now I want my scarf back,” Kent says when they meet up in the Great Hall for dinner, snagging it off Jack’s neck and pulling it off so fast it smacks Jack in the face. Kent laughs and Jack feels himself start to laugh as well.

Shitty just looks despondent.

“Why do you look like that?” Jack asks.

“Because I have to play against _you_ my first game,” Shitty says, giving Jack a filthy look.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says. He almost means it until he’s putting on his yellow robes and checking the twigs on his broom. Johnson herds them out to the pitch and they take to the sky. Shitty looks nervous across from Jack on the face off.

Jack grabs the quaffle before anyone else and he’s off. He passes to one of the other chasers to get around a Bludger, grabs it back, and pitches it past Ravenclaw’s keeper before a minute has gone by. He can feel the wind in his hair, blowing it back. Partly, he feels like the only real thing in the world is the broom between his knees and the quaffle in his hand, but at the same time, he’s acutely aware of everything around him. He can see each of the thirteen other players and the referee, the Bludgers swooping around trying to kill people, the snitch flitting about near Hufflepuff’s goalposts. Maybe the only real thing is the game. It’s certainly the only thing that matters.

Jack scores another five times before their seeker catches the snitch and abruptly ends the game before it’s really started. Jack’s a little disappointed, but he’s also the only one on the team who scored. He supposes he can live with that.

“Sorry Shits,” he says when they meet in the Great Hall.

“Yeah, whatever,” Shitty says, but not with any malice. “I knew we were gonna lose.”

“Your beaters are solid, though, so you might tell your captain to focus on getting them even better,” Jack suggests. “Play defence.”

“I mean, if you can come up with plays,” Kent adds. “That’s what Ravenclaws are good at, right? Planning? You just need more practice.”

“Thanks,” Shitty says. He smiles at both of them. “It’s alright. I knew what I was getting myself into, making friends with prodigies.”

Ravenclaw play Slytherin next, and it would’ve been a very boring game except they’ve apparently taken Jack’s advice about focusing on their beaters, because their beaters are unstoppable. It takes Jack all of a minute of play to figure out that Ravenclaw’s beaters are gunning for one chaser in particular.

He has to watch in horror while Kent takes a Bludger to the stomach and topples off his broom. Slytherin win anyway, but Jack misses it because he’s too busy running to the hospital wing to make sure Kent’s okay. Someone has to take care of Kit after all and he doesn’t think Kit likes him very much.

Somehow, as if she’s part kneazle, Kit is already at the hospital wing, meowing at the door to be let in. Jack opens the door and she darts past his legs into the ward, promptly finding Kent’s bed and hopping onto it. Madam Abbott, their school nurse, tries to shoo Kit away, but she won’t budge.

“Hey,” Jack says, pulling a chair up next to Kent’s bed. He looks like hell, but Jack is relieved to see he’s got his eyes open and is only grimacing a bit.

“Hey,” Kent says.

“Just how many bones have you broken in your life, Mr Parson?” Madam Abbott demands, hands on her hips while she inspects Kent’s arm. Jack infers that he broke something when he fell off his broom.

“A few,” Kent admits.

“And what? They were all set by Muggles?” Madam Abbott asks, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees. “When do I get to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Madam Abbott says, giving him a disapproving look. She storms off muttering about Quidditch and the health dangers it poses to innocent students.

“That looked like quite a hit,” Jack says, bumping his knee against Kent’s bed.

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Kent says, wincing while he sits up. “I’ve had worse.”

Kit stalks up the bed and curls up in the hollow between Kent’s arm and body. Jack imagines she sleeps there every night.

“We’re still gonna beat you,” Kent says, giving Jack a grin.

Jack laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Over my dead body.”

Kent laughs as well, although he flinches and holds his ribs immediately after. Broken bones are one thing to magic, Jack knows, but bruising is something else entirely.

“Gryffindor’s gonna cry either way,” Kent says. “Because one of us is going to break their record.”

“The one who doesn’t owes the other something,” Jack suggests.

“What else are you gonna get me, Zimms? You already got me a cat,” Kent points out, stroking Kit’s ears.

“Five galleons?” Jack suggests. “Five galleons to whoever destroys Gryffindor’s records.”

Kent grins. “You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I did mess with the timeline a little so that Bitty is only a year behind Jack and Kent. In a couple chapters, you should expect the Frogs. And thank you all for helping me decide Dex's house. It was very helpful. 
> 
> That said, I do still need help figuring out the names for the wizarding schools in:  
> -the Western United States (somewhere in the Pacific Northwest because I know it best)  
> -Central America  
> -the Caribbean   
> -the South Pacific (specifically the fictional Sicmon Islands which I stole from Nick Bantock)  
> -India  
> -South East Asia   
> -North Africa  
> -South Africa  
> -Central Asia 
> 
> Please comment! They give me life.


	4. Second Year pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Thank you all for your patience and understanding! 
> 
> My grovelling excuse as to why this took so long - I was in Washington DC (the other Washington) and then there were comic updates, and then my job sucks and I'm in negotiations for a new one, I have an internship, and I'm running a Halloween challenge, for which there is more information below.

Kent is planning to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. Shitty is the first to volunteer as well, and after Jack owls home, he decides to stay too. Bob and Alicia think it’s sweet of him to stay with his friends. They’re not alone, it turns out, because Larissa the tinier-than-Bittle Ravenclaw first year is also at the table in the Great Hall when they go to breakfast the first morning of the holidays. To Jack’s chagrin, so is Bittle. A quick glance over at Gryffindor shows that Birkholtz and Oluransi are also staying. Jack and Kent exchange confused looks as Shitty beckons the boys to the Ravenclaw table, along with Bittle, and encourages Larissa to squeeze down to their end of the table.

“I figure, as long as it’s gonna just be the seven of us, we ought to eat together,” Shitty explains. “It’s Adam and Justin, right?”

“Yeah,” the large blond one, who Jack is fairly sure is Birkholtz, replies.

“Where are you boys from?” Shitty asks.

“London,” they say in perfect unison before high-fiving each other.

“Near each other?” Kent asks, clearly confused.

“Nah, Holster’s from Holloway, I’m from Chelsea,” Oluransi says.

“Holster?” Jack repeats, blank.

“From Birkholtz,” Birkholtz supplies. “He’s Ransom.”

“Ransom and Holster,” Shitty says, his eyes lighting up. “I fucking love it. High five.”

Birkholtz gives him a worryingly strong high five that makes Shitty shake out his hand afterwards.

“You three are pretty good at Quidditch,” Oluransi says while they dig into kippers and toast.

“Thanks,” Kent says.

“Johnson says you two play beater,” Jack adds, even though he doesn’t know why Johnson knows that or how Johnson knows that, or if Birkholtz and Oluransi have any idea who Johnson is.

“Yeah,” Oluransi agrees. “We’re going for the team next year. Can you even imagine not playing Quidditch?”

Jack stares at him for a second and tries not to feel the hives he’s suddenly broken into. No, he can’t imagine not playing Quidditch. The very thought makes his skin crawl. It’s a different kind of crawling than when Kent smiles at him though. Honestly, the very thought of not playing Quidditch makes Jack feel like he can’t breathe.

“No,” he says.

“Me neither,” Oluransi says, entirely oblivious to the horror he’s just stricken into Jack’s heart.

“This IAQL thing should be fascinating, don’t you think?” Birkholtz asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. His mouth is full of toast, and Jack can see the crumbs coming off his bottom lip and Jack’s not entirely sure he can breathe.

“Jack?” Kent asks. Jack shakes his head and barely manages to get out an “excuse me” before he runs from the room. He finds himself in the hallway that would lead to the Hufflepuff common room before he collapses against the wall. His heart is racing so fast he can’t catch his breath, and his hands are shaking, and there are dark spots in front of his eyes and oh god, this is what dying feels like.

Jack can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t – and then Kent’s crouching in front of him looking terrified.

“Zimms?” he asks, stretching a hand out towards him and then retracting it like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch him. “Zimms, breathe!”

Jack takes a shaky breath that feels like it’s being forced into his lungs by an air compressor. Kent reaches his hand out again and very tentatively places it on Jack’s shoulder. Jack wonders that he can still feel glad about the fact it’s not anywhere Kent might feel Jack’s racing pulse.

“Hey, are you with me?” Kent asks and Jack catches sight of his eyes. He’s horrified. He’s horrified and it’s Jack’s fault, and oh god he can’t breathe. “Jack!”

Jack takes another shaky breath. The horror hasn’t left Kent’s eyes and Jack hates it.

“In and out, okay?” Kent says, grabbing Jack’s hand and pressing it to his own chest. Jack can feel his heart race under Kent’s thin jumper. He can also feel Kent’s chest rise and fall in slow, deep, deliberate ways. “Breathe with me, yeah?”

Jack feels himself nod and tries to match Kent’s breathing. At first it’s hard, nearly impossible, but slowly, ever so slowly, Jack gets the hang of it. As soon as he’s breathing normally, Kent pulls Jack forward so that Jack’s face is pressed against Kent’s shoulder. Jack breathes in the scent of soap and the wool from Kent’s jumper, and feels himself calm down even more. It’s then he realises they’re hugging while sitting on the stone floor of a corridor.

“Why didn’t you tell me you get panic attacks?” Kent asks.

Jack blinks up at him in confusion. “What’s a panic attack?”

Kent’s face falls. He doesn’t look horrified anymore, which Jack is thankful for. “It’s when you’ve got so much anxiety you feel like you’re gonna die.”

“Oh,” Jack says, because that’s definitely how he’d felt. “How’d – how’d you know what to do?”

“My dad used to get them,” Kent says. “The first time he came back from Kuwait.”

Jack frowns. “Where’s Kuwait?”

Kent sighs. “It’s in the Middle East. But that was before I was born.”

Jack isn’t sure which of them realises first that they’re still hugging, but it must be nearly synchronous because that’s when they pull apart. Jack doesn’t know why his face feels like it’s on fire, but Kent is blushing too, so at least there’s that.

“Is your dad still in England?” Jack asks.

“No, he’s in Afghanistan,” Kent says, scratching the back of his head rather than look Jack in the eye. Jack has no idea what just happened, but he doesn’t think he liked it.

* * *

 

The Christmas holidays pass quickly after that, with all seven of them teaming up to have snowball fights. It’s quickly decided that Birkholtz and Oluransi aren’t allowed to be on the same team because they’ll just destroy everyone else. Jack usually winds up playing with Oluransi and Kent, since according to the others, Bittle and Larissa are so small they count as just one person. Nevertheless, Jack and Kent tend to win every time they play. Sometimes when they win a round, Kent will hug Jack tightly for a moment. Every single time he does it, it feels like Jack’s got a frog in his throat that’s trying to leap out and he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.

He comes to the conclusion after the term starts again that someone’s jinxed Kent. It doesn’t even occur to Jack that there might be another explanation until he goes to see Madam Abbott for help.

“I think someone’s done something to my friend,” he says. “I think he’s jinxed.”

Madam Abbott frowns at him, her eyes widening in obvious concern. “Alright then, what’s happened to him? Is he green? Swelling in unusual places, hiccups when he speaks…”

Jack feels himself flush. “No it’s not that, it’s – every time he hugs someone it feels like there’s a great giant toad in their throat.”

Madam Abbott is quiet for a moment, considering. She looks at Jack with sharply intelligent eyes. She was a Hufflepuff too, he realises. Back when she was in school.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “And is this…is this just when he hugs you or when he hugs other people too?”

“He doesn’t hug other people,” Jack says. “So I suppose it’s just me.”

Madam Abbott presses her lips together until they disappear and her cheeks keep twitching. After a long moment, Jack realises she’s trying not to smile. And that just seems unfair.

“It’s Jack, isn’t it?” she asks. He nods. “Alright, Jack. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your friend, or at least he hasn’t been jinxed.”

“But--” Jack protests.

“Jack, I want you to think about how you feel about this…friend…of yours, and see if maybe that’ll give you an answer,” Madam Abbott says. She winces suddenly. “And, erm, maybe owl your dad and ask him about puberty.”

“About what?” Jack asks.

“If he doesn’t say, come back and I’ll fill you in,” Madam Abbott says. “Right now, I think you ought to be at Quidditch practice.”

Jack knows she’s right, so he runs off, heading for the pitch. Johnson and his dormmate Tyler are both there already, and it’s not long before the rest of the team shows up. Practice goes well, all things considered, and Jack is sure they have a chance to beat Slytherin when they play next. It’s so much easier to think about Quidditch rather than anything else.

He has to think about school work though, which is less fun.

“I’m gonna just…fail,” Shitty complains as they head towards Easter.

“What would you possibly fail?” Kent asks, chewing on the end of his quill. Jack has tried to take Madam Abbott’s advice, but nothing seems more understandable. Except now the frog that lives in his throat has been joined by bats in his stomach and ants under his skin whenever he’s alone with Kent for too long. Except that he also really wants to be with just Kent, sort of all the time. He’s broken, that’s the only possible explanation.

“I dunno, divination?” Shitty suggests.

“We don’t have that until next year, and even then it’s optional,” Jack points out.

Kent grins at him and the bats in Jack’s stomach take a swooping dive.

“Well I’m gonna fail SOMETHING,” Shitty insists, and at this point Jack is sure it’s just to be contrary.

“Fail at failing,” Kent recommends.

Shitty opens his mouth to argue, as is his wont, and then pauses with his mouth open and his finger up.

“That is a _brilliant_ idea,” he decides. “You’re a genius Parson.”

“Thanks,” Kent says. “You worried about your exams, Zimms?”

Jack shrugs. He’s always worried about something, but it’s usually casual in the back of his mind worry. It’s been there so long he doesn’t know what it would be like without it.

One thing he’s not worried about is the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game. That, he thinks, is going to be fun.

Shitty is distraught the morning of the game, and ends up stealing Kent’s Slytherin tie and Jack’s Hufflepuff scarf to console himself. He wears Kent’s tie around his head and Jack’s scarf like a normal person (which for Shitty is saying something) but cries over having to root for one of them over the other. Jack awkwardly pats him on the back while Kent laughs.

Slytherin’s team is summoned away first to get ready, which leaves Jack with Shitty at the Ravenclaw table. Just before Johnson comes to drag Jack to the locker room, Bittle appears next to him holding a small pie. He smiles brightly at Jack and holds it out.

“Good luck!” he says. “I’m sure you’ll be great!”

He’s wearing earmuffs over a hat and is wrapped in what looks like seven different Hufflepuff scarves even though it’s February so it’s not that cold. But Bittle is from the Cotswolds or somewhere far south. Jack’s not sure.

“Erm, thanks,” Jack says, not taking the mini-pie until Shitty elbows him. As soon as it’s in Jack’s hands, Bittle vanishes into the throngs of people like a wisp of yellow-tinted smoke.

Jack turns to Shitty. “Why did you make me take this? I’m not going to eat it.”

“Jack. Jacques. Jackelope,” Shitty says. He’s looking at Jack like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Itty Bitty Bittle’s pies are legendary and he’s only a first year.”

“They are?” Jack asks. Shitty nods vehemently and takes the pie. He hands Jack a fork, but Jack doesn’t take it. He can’t eat sweets. They’re not for him.

Shitty shrugs at him and takes a bite, his eyes falling shut and fluttering while he makes indecent noises around his fork.

To Jack’s dismay, Bob had not been the one to answer his letter home about puberty. It had been Alicia, and Jack was fairly certain the things she’d written would be scarred in his brain permanently. He’s just infinitely glad he didn’t explain why he was asking because he doesn’t imagine Alicia’s answer would have been anything good.

Fortunately, he’s saved from speculation by Johnson showing up with the rest of the team and dragging Jack off to the Quidditch pitch. Everything is much easier to process when he’s in the air, and when he’s in his canary yellow robes holding his broom in one hand and the Quaffle in the other.

But this is Quidditch like he’s never played it before, because Kent is on the other side of the pitch from him in green and silver, and he keeps smirking at Jack whenever they fight over the Quaffle. And it is a fight, every single move is a fight, and it feels more or less like there aren’t other players on the pitch. Jack can’t stop fantasising about the time when maybe, in the IAQL on the All-Hogwarts team, he’ll get to play _with_ Kent instead, because it’s going to be something phenomenal.

The game is still a tie after an hour of play. Every time Jack scores, so does Kent. And even though they’re not technically winning, Jack can’t stop smiling about it. It’s never occurred to him before to consider whether or not he actually _likes_ Quidditch but the polls are in and the answer seems to be yes.

By the time it’s been an hour and a half, Jack is exhausted, but he’s never been happier. Hufflepuff is up by thirty points, and he’s scored most of those goals, but then in quick succession, Kent scores off the other chasers on his team, and suddenly they’re losing. Before Jack has a chance to tie it up, Hufflepuff’s seeker catches the snitch. Jack is almost disappointed when they meet on the ground for handshakes.

“Did you see?” Tyler asks as they shake Slytherin’s beaters’ hands. Jack is fairly certain the boys are trying to crush his fingers but he doesn’t mention it.

“See what?” Jack asks, because the only thing he’s seen recently is the game.

“I think Oliver Wood was in the stands,” Tyler says and Johnson makes a noise of agreement behind them. Hufflepuff’s beaters, Jenny and Mandy, start enthusing loudly about the possibility that it was really The Oliver Wood in the stands, you know, the one who played for Scotland in the World Cup and wasn’t he just the _most_ handsome war hero.

“Was Oliver Wood really in the stands?” Kent asks when Jack reaches him in the handshake line.

“I dunno,” Jack says. “Why would he be?”

“I dunno,” Kent replies, sounding equally confused.

Jack doesn’t think about it very much again. At least not until a week later when Shitty drops the _Daily Prophet_ on the lunch table and stares at Jack and Kent with very serious eyes.

“Well it’s official,” he says. He points at the headline which reads, in big bold letters, _Oliver Wood officially named as the head coach for the All-Hogwarts team in the IAQL._

Jack glances at Kent and sees his eyes are just as wide.

“And he came and saw you magnificent fuckers play,” Shitty says, shaking his head in fondness. “Merlin this is gonna get interesting.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t want to be conceited about it, but he’d bet money he and Kent are shoe-ins for the chasers’ positions on the All-Hogwarts team.

* * *

 

Jack’s second year ends with more of a bang than he expects it to. Instead of Gryffindor going to the Quidditch final, it’s a rematch of Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The game goes long, and they all play very hard, but in the end, Slytherin’s seeker beats theirs. Kent doesn’t gloat, he leaves that to the other people on his team. But he does give Jack a smug little smile on the train back to London that makes the bats in Jack’s stomach furiously angry.

“Here,” Jack says, feeling himself blush. He hands Kent over a small stack of five galleons. “You won fair and square.”

“Nah, we should split it. It’s both of our fault Gryffindor didn’t even make it to the final,” Kent says, trying to hand some of them back to Jack. Jack refuses to take them for long enough that Kent gives up.

“Are you coming to stay again this summer?” Jack asks.

“Can I?” Kent replies. For just a second his eyes look hungry. It fades though, like he’s afraid to let himself feel that way.

“Yeah of course,” Jack says. “We’ll owl about it.”

“Great,” Kent says, grinning at him. The bats in Jack’s stomach swan dive. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s not sure he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so! 
> 
> Yes, Jack is being bad to Bitty, but Jack is not aware of his own emotions. Obviously. 
> 
> General Housekeeping Items!!  
> The 13 Days of Halloween Challenge is a thing that exists! You can read about it on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/13_Days_of_Halloween_Check_Please_2016) and on [tumblr](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com/13-days-of-halloween). 
> 
>  
> 
> (if you don't follow me on tumblr, you can do that [here](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com). If you want. I fill a lot of prompts usually, so really everyone benefits :))


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